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Things have been growing increasingly cold and dark and this far-away northern part of the world, and the prospect of an isolated week in Oslo after two lovely weekends with the best of people was depressing C, my lovely fellow Edinburgh compatriot, and I entirely. Thankfully our Austrian friend S and Australian friend E, both charming medical students, came to the rescue. On Thursday evening (the beginning of the weekend for slackers such as we have become) we headed over to E’s, and I somehow was put in charge of making the evening meal: a very traditional Norwegian culinary delight that we had previously suggested trying partly in jest; fiskeboller, or ‘fish balls.’ The fiskeboller themselves were white and slimy and rather hideous to handle, but once plopped into the sauce I knocked up (my method of measuring is haphazard to say the very least, poor E is such a well-organised and measured young gentleman that he nearly had apoplexy watching me assemble this sauce in his kitchen in my rather relaxed, slapdash way) were slightly less horrid to look at. With the addition of some big prawns to distract us from what could potentially have been car-crash-cuisine, we sat down to our meal with slight trepidation. Luckily my sterling skills (miraculously) overcame and the food actually tasted pleasant! I was truly amazed, to be perfectly honest. Anyway, numerous fiskeboller, two bottles of red wine and a shared tub of devilishly good ice cream later we all collapsed on E’s bed together and decided that the intellectual challenge of the pub quiz was a little too much for that evening. The boys had an early(ish) night (unlike us in the rather relaxed faculty of humanities, the medical students at Oslo seem to do a little work occasionally) and C and I continued onto an 80s themed party in the building next to mine. Swiftly cornered by a group of truly mental Mediterraneans intent on making us the meat in their sandwich, C and I simultaneously seemed to be the only ones who fully appreciated the musical playlist: typical British dated treats like Madness, Depeche Mode et al were rather lost on those around us while we (ok, possibly rather embarrassingly enthusiastically) sang along to every word. C picked up on something very true and hilarious upon realization though: when those without English as a first language attempt miming along to English-speaking songs, the results are often the most comic thing you will stumble across. Keep your eyes peeled for this!
Anyway, the moral of the party tale is that Italians/Spaniards/Portuguese/Mexicans are mad when it comes to partying, and two upstanding members of the Oslo Police Force ended up confiscating the music device and interviewing those who didn’t swiftly leave the flat! Exciting. I have heard rumours that Oslo’s Police force is worryingly small at night, with a reliable source suggesting that only 8 officers are on patrol during the night. Considering that 2 felt fit to visit the party that night, I think the organizers can consider their night to be some (warped) success(!)
Anyway, despite exams being just over a week off, a dark weekend in Oslo loomed, and S and E came to the rescue with suggestions of a trip over the border to Gothenburg. We set off in S’ car on Saturday morning and arrived before noon, before exploring the city a little. The cold was steely, but an afternoon exploring and a visit to the design museum was a pleasant way to spend the afternoon.
Also, here is a lovely and obligatory picture of C and I posing ridiculously next to a sign which references our homeland in some way, I have seen more of these kinds of things in the past few months than ever in my life, but it's just irresistable:
That evening we ate out, a complete novelty for us after months in Oslo where one has to consider selling a limb before entering a restaurant!
S and I had elk, C had some delicious potato thing and E went for the calf’s tongue (surprisingly good). We spent the rest of evening in a bar that resembled some strange opium den with carpets on the walls, but was, in truth, cosy in the extreme and the Swedish bartender made hilarious Norway comments when we ordered our drinks (the two languages are mutually i. The following day brought more food, some Swedish modern art and a trip to the supermarket where we stocked up on mulled wine! Sweden is delightfully cheap. Then the long, depressing journey home to this week’s horrible realizations of the hard revision to be done! “Oh dear” really doesn’t cover it.
